


A Wholesome Family Dinner

by ChubbinLovin (TinyBibliophile)



Series: Coming Home to You [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Image, Body Positivity, Body Worship, Button Popping, Chubstuck, Coming In Pants, F/M, Fat fetish, Fatstuck, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 00:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBibliophile/pseuds/ChubbinLovin
Summary: You've come home from spring break, and it's about time you brought your boyfriend home for an evening with your parents. He's just not sure how they'll react to how much he's changed in a year.





	A Wholesome Family Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "Coming Home to You" (1) and "No Matter How Far." (2)
> 
> (This one's still fetishy as shit, don't you worry, but a bit of body positivity and kink consent was relevant and I would've felt guilty if I wrote this segment without it.) Also! If you'd like to request a fic in this range of kinks, find me on tumblr. (chub-game-so-strong.)

Your heart was racing as you stepped out of the terminal and into the airport. Finally, after an eight-hour flight, you were home again. Home for a whole week. You’d spent those eight airborne hours dreaming about Dave, and soon you’d be in his arms again. He’d volunteered to pick you up from the airport so you wouldn’t have to get a rental again, and it didn’t take long at all to pick out his tall, bulky build and white-blonde hair amidst the crowd.

 

You ran to him. It was like a scene out of a shitty romcom. He was standing idly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the crowd; you saw his full lips spread to reveal a dazzling, white grin when he looked in your direction and apparently spotted you. You hit him full force, his plumpness softening the blow, and enveloped him in a hug as he did the same. Your arms weren’t long enough to reach around his wide middle, and you sighed like it was the first breath you’d taken in months as you sank into his thick, plush body.

 

“Jesus,” he chuckled, sounding a bit winded, “since when can you run at the fucking speed of sound?”

 

You gave him a tight squeeze, nuzzling into the cushion of his breast. “Since when are you such a wimp?” you teased lovingly, taking a step back and looking up into his full face, your own image reflected back at you in his shades. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

 

He nodded eagerly in agreement, holding your hand as the two of you went to go retrieve what little luggage you had brought. It was only a week, you remembered solemnly, so you’d have to savor it. Once you’d retrieved your two small bags, the two of you made for the exit. He even offered to take one for you.

 

However, that came to be a problem.

 

Security measures at the airport had increased, as they were wont to do. Everyone carrying a bag had to go through security, even on the way out, to make sure they didn’t have any illegal drugs or other paraphernalia. That in itself didn’t matter much, they were only doing their jobs. Of course the ex-rays and pat-downs turned up nothing because you had nothing to hide. It was when the two of you got to the turnstiles that a problem emerged.

 

You made it through easily enough, aside from the strap to your backpack snagging on the levers and making you trip up a bit. You didn’t look behind you as you composed yourself and kept going, only to hear a little _thunk_ from behind you. Then you realized that Dave wasn’t at your side anymore, and when you turned to look for him your breath caught in your throat.

 

He was stuck. The turnstile was narrow, and his heart-shaped hips were… _not narrow_ . The bar of the turnstile was indented against his fat belly, flesh wobbling a bit as he tried to squirm free. His love handles sat atop the short, metal gateway, not at all aiding his efforts. He wasn’t _hopelessly_ stuck, but it was definitely a bit of an endeavor as he forced himself through, the struggle of his thick thighs against one another audible.

 

“Oh my god,” you heard him pant out under his breath, pink flooding his round cheeks as a thin veil of sweat appeared on his brow. He was almost out, but people behind him were starting to gawk and snicker as they waited. His lips pressed tightly together, brows furrowing as he made one final heave of his body and all but catapulted free. You managed to bolt forward in time to steady him, your hands melting into the fat of his waist; not that you could’ve stopped him from falling if he’d been about to. He’d have crushed you.

 

“C’mon,” you soothed as you noticed the barely-masked mortification on his face, “it’s okay, babe... let’s just go.”

 

He nodded but said nothing, taking your hand like it was a lifeline. You felt the many eyes on you as the two of you made your way out of the airport, but you didn’t care; you gave his soft hand a tight, reassuring squeeze, then moved to hug his arm as if to say “fuck you assholes” to all the rude onlookers. He was your Dave, and he was fucking perfect.

 

Anyone who thought otherwise could suck it.

 

The two of you didn’t say a word until you were safely inside his car and away from prying eyes and ears, your bags thrown carelessly into the backseat. “Hey,” you said quietly as you buckled your seatbelt, “you okay?”

 

He nodded, but his silence disturbed you. His brows were knitted together as he put the key in the ignition and buckled his own seatbelt, and you could tell he was biting the inside of his lip. More worrying, he wouldn’t look at you. He looked genuinely upset, even if he was trying so hard to hide it. His motions were stiff and jerky, and when he finally put his hand on the gear shift, you grabbed his wrist and ripped it away so he would meet your gaze.

 

“Talk to me.”

 

You saw him swallow as he crossed his arms over his protruding stomach, his own seatbelt lost between it and his lap. You hadn’t seen him do that since your first day back during Christmas break. He wasn’t so shy when he was on camera with you, but then again… it was _just_ you. “That was humiliating,” he grumbled out, that last word seeming to deepen the flush in his cheeks and his neck all on its own. “Everyone was staring at me and-... I heard them laughing.”

 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you frowned. “So what?”

 

“So what?” he repeated a little heatedly. Not angrily, necessarily, but his anxiety was palpable. “y/n, I’m _huge_. Nobody ever laughed at me when I was-”

 

“Shut up,” you cut him off, unbuckling your seatbelt and shifting closer to cup his cheek in your hand. “Shut the fuck up right now. People are shitty and beauty standards are fucked, but that shouldn’t make you forget how much I love you and how much you should love yourself. You’re gorgeous and wonderful and if they can’t see that then it’s their fucking loss. Besides,” you smiled adoringly, moving closer to nuzzle against his neck and kiss him gently, “they’re just jealous that you’re _alllllll_ mine.”

 

While he still seemed unsure, his posture relaxed, his arms uncrossing and a hand moving to rest on your thigh. “... I don’t deserve you,” he chuckled weakly, only for you to shake your head.

 

“It’s not about deserving,” you said simply. “That’s not how this works and you know it.”

 

Finally, he managed a real, genuine smile, careful as it was. The two of you sat together without speaking as you peppered his face with worshipping kisses, until he finally relaxed and broke the silence. “You’re sappy as fuck, you know that?”

 

You kissed his lips, savoring his taste as he tilted and opened his mouth to kiss you back. Fuck, you’d missed him. When you separated, hesitant as you both were to do so, you smirked. “Yeah, and you love me for it.”

 

“Sure do. Now let’s get you home.”

 

When the two of you pulled into your driveway, there was an awkward beat of silence after the engine shut off. You told him a few weeks ago that you’d let slip to your parents that the two of you were together now. It wasn’t like they were against it- they’d always liked Dave, after all, and they’d known him as long as you had. It had definitely come as a surprise, though. In your mother's words "I thought if this was going to happen, it would've a long time ago." They wanted him over for dinner, and had even said he could stay the night if he wanted; you’d told him as much over Skype the night before. However, this would be their first time seeing him since you’d moved away, and with his confidence already shaken as it had been…

 

“Dave,” you comforted, rubbing his thigh softly. “It’s just dinner.”

 

“And spending the night.”

 

Your parents had all but insisted upon it, since he was “part of the family now.” It wasn’t as if they’d ever been opposed to him sleeping over at any point in your friendship, even when you’d been teenagers. Still, that had surprised you; it was almost as if it was their way of saying “we know you two are going to have sex no matter what we do.”

 

You nodded, and he swallowed thickly, wetting his lips in that nervous way that he did. “I want to make a good impression,” he admitted begrudgingly in response to your questioning stare.

 

“What are you talking about? They’ve known you forever.”

 

“They don’t know me like-” he gestured to his body. “... Like this. What if they act all weird and it gets super awkward?”

 

You wanted to say that that wouldn’t happen, but you weren’t sure. Your parents were kind people, but they weren’t exactly the most open-minded.  Still, you were sure it couldn't change an overall good opinion that had been built up practically over his entire lifetime. “They’ll love you the same. You’re still Dave Strider, coolest kid on the block, no matter how much you weigh. Now stop being silly and help me bring stuff inside.”

 

He smiled as you kissed him again, following your lead and pulling your luggage and his own overnight bag from the back seat. Your parents weren’t home yet- they shouldn’t be for maybe an hour or so. They both worked until early evening, but your dad was going to pick dinner up on his way home. The two of you climbed the stairs to your room, and you briefly thought back to when you used to race each other: he'd always beaten you to the top, but now he was lagging behind a bit sluggishly.

 

“C’mon slowpoke,” you teased, backtracking to join his side and make the rest of the trek with him.

 

It took a couple of minutes to finally reach your bedroom, and when you did  the two of you threw the bags to the floor. Before you knew it you were laying on the bed, pinned under his weight as he ravished you with kisses.

 

“I missed you,” he murmured in between sweet, soft pecks over your cheeks, your lips, your neck and collarbones. His hands roamed over your shoulders, briefly fondling your breasts before sliding down your stomach and to your waist.

 

You moaned your agreement as he rocked his soft hips into yours. Much to your dismay, he stopped suddenly and pulled back. At first you thought he was getting anxious again, but to your surprise he was wearing a mischievous smile. “What’s that look about?”

 

“I just remembered that I brought something for you,” he said, that devious note in his tone making your stomach flutter. “One sec.” While he left you to rifle through his bag, you sat up and caught your breath. Being underneath him like that had all but suffocated you; it felt amazing. Finally he seemed to find what he was looking for, and when he turned back around he was holding up a pair of jeans.

 

“These are from a month ago,” he explained, seeming both eager and uncertain. “They’re… probably pretty small on me now. I almost chucked them when the seams started to wear, but I just thought-”

 

“Put them on,” you cut in, finishing his thought. Seeing your own anticipation made him glow a bit, like a puppy who’d just been told what a good boy he is.

 

His hands moved to find the button of his current pants underneath the fold of his stomach, shucking off the fitting pair in favor of the old one. It was magical watching him struggle to get them on. The calves weren’t too bad, but what was supposed to be a boot-cut fit almost like skinny jeans. It was when he past his knees that he really had to struggle.

 

Your mouth went dry as he started to grunt and squirm, his whole body wobbling as he shimmied the tight garment up his thighs. “They’re… wow, fuck,” he groaned, licking his lips as he took a bit of a break; the hem was almost up to his hips, the fabric obviously strained around his thighs and they bunched and folded around the waistband. “They’re smaller than I thought they’d be…”

 

“You didn’t try them on before now?”

 

“Not recently,” he answered simply. “I wanted to wait until you were back, so-... so it’d be a surprise for both of us.” That warmed your heart a bit, but before you could be just as sappy and sentimental he was back to tugging fabric and tucking flesh to try and get the jeans up over his hips. He finally managed, but barely. He was wearing a bulky hoodie, but he’d pulled it up over his stomach so you could see every detail, examining the results of his little experiment.

 

The denim hugged every curve and disappeared under every fold. His love handles and muffin top hid the waistband entirely, every roll and chubby feature exaggerated by how small the pants were on him. The only thing you could see in that general area was the wide-open fly, strained apart by his girth.

 

“Try to button them,” you purred teasingly, knowing full well it would be impossible.

 

“That’s impossible,” he voiced, as if to confirm your thoughts. He tried anyway. You could hear him groan and pant as he pointlessly pulled the two sides of his fly together, his belly squashing together and jiggling defiantly between his fists. His face was a deep pink, but not from hurt embarrassment this time, the exasperated pleasure audible in his labored breathing.

 

No matter how hard he pulled, there was still a good inch or so between the button and its respective hole. You stood and strode to him, caressing and pinching the pliant folds of flesh that kept the garment's star-crossed lovers separated. His breath hitched, a small keen of want (perhaps of pain) writhing its way out of him. Then you realized that he was hard, the tight jeans no doubt creating a devastating amount of pressure against his cock, as they did with the rest of his body.

 

“They’re really-,” he breathed into your hair as you snuggled close, your hands sliding around his body to cup the barely-contained width of his ass. It turned you on that you could barely even reach it. Again he whimpered, his hips grinding slightly forward and making the fabric creak fearfully against his bulk. “-Really, _really_ tight,” he finally finished, his hands giving up their task to hold you tightly by your hips instead.

 

“I can’t believed you gained this much in just a month,” you mocked lovingly into his chest. “I mean, _god._ ” You groaned, grabbing fistfulls of his love handles and shaking them roughly, making his whole belly jiggle against you. “How much have you been _eating_ , Strider?”

 

Before he could answer, you heard the front door close loudly downstairs. You both stiffened, flying apart and busying yourselves with something, anything else as you heard footsteps coming towards your room. He barely had time to yank his big hoodie down over his hanging gut by the time you heard the door open.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” it was your father, a single knock on the door before it creaked open. “Welcome home! I brought KFC for dinner; that sound good?” By the time he’d poked his head around the corner, Dave had ducked into your closet for good measure, as if to further dissuade any ideas of what you two might’ve been doing. Your parents weren’t stupid: if they caught you two alone in your room together, the lights off and the fluster yet to leave your faces, they’d know what was up. “Where’s David?”

 

“He’s, uh,” you stumbled out, your mouth dry and your face still feeling hot from your antics. “He went to use the bathroom. I’ll tell him dinner’s waiting.”

 

Your dad gave you the thumbs up before shutting the door, and you let out the breath you’d been holding in. “Coast’s clear,” you said quietly, prompting Dave to come back out. “We’d better hurry, or he’ll come back.”

 

When the two of you arrived in the dining room, the table was already set with the fried, southern bounty. You heard bustling in the kitchen, plates and cups being brought down from shelves to set the table. Then footsteps coming out. It felt like the moment of truth as Dave squeezed your hand.

 

Of course they were surprised. Who wouldn't be? The last time they’d seen Dave he was slender, his frame built up with sleek, toned muscles. He'd been angular, model-worthy in a way. Now his whole frame was thickly padded with pillowy fat. You both noticed as their smiles stalled and their eyes slightly widened, tracing briefly up and down his body. Your dad was the first to speak.

 

“It’s good to see ya, son!” he said jovially, thrusting a hand out to shake Dave’s. Your boyfriend seemed to ease up a bit, his posture visibly relaxing as he clasped your dad’s hand in his, the bandaid finally ripped off. “How’ve ya been?”

 

“Pretty good,” he said nonchalantly as possible, offering a little shrug. “Y’know how it is. Lotsa homework and existential crisis. Normal college things.”

 

At that your dad chortled, gesturing for everyone to sit down at the table and begin filling up the plates your mother had just finished setting out. “Always a kidder. I'm glad our (y/n) found a boy with a sharp sense of humor.”

 

You and Dave sat next to each other, and as you glanced down to find where his hand was and hold it in yours, you realized something: he hadn’t changed his pants. He was still wearing the outgrown, strained-tight pair he had been when you’d been fooling around in your room. Had he forgotten about them? You realized that you had in your panic, so it was possible. At least his hoodie (and the pudgy flap of his gut) was big enough to hide the undone zipper and button, but the agonizingly tiny fit couldn’t have gone unnoticed.

 

“So, David,” your mom began in her best hostess voice, making you stiffen as your eyes were drawn away from the issue at hand. “You’re looking… healthy.”

 

Wow. Tact. Have you heard of it?

 

Even out of the corner of your eye you noticed the flush in Dave’s cheeks as he pushed a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, having been quick to fill his plate if not just out of impulse. Yours was still empty, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel hungry. His knee was bouncing nervously underneath the table, and you moved your hand to rest soothingly on his thigh; the jittery movements slowed, but only slightly. “Mom!” you spat out defensively. “Seriously?”

 

Before she could apologize or cover up her clear case of "open mouth, insert foot" syndrome, your boyrfriend broke the awkward silence. “It’s fine,” Dave mumbled after he’d swallowed his mouthful. “I’ve gained some weight since I started college. It’s not a big deal.” While you admired his frankness, your mom’s eyebrow raised a bit as if to say “that’s an understatement” without actually doing so out loud. Whether he noticed this or not, Dave’s expression remained stoic behind his shades aside from the tight pursing of his lips and the subtle glow in his cheeks. Still, his twitching and fidgeting was obvious, at least to you. Was he aware of the way he was bulging out of his jeans?

 

When you noticed him glance at you, then pointedly down, then up again, his eyes visible through the space between his shades and face, you thought surely he was. If he got up now, he’d only draw attention to himself again. You didn't want that,  especially because _he_ _clearly_ didn't want that. The best you could do was wait until you’d all finished eating and excuse yourselves; you thought it might take the both of you to get the pair of jeans off of him anyway, considering how much effort it had taken to get them on in the first place.

 

After the initial shock of Dave’s new look wore off, dinner went by smoothly. Dave’s usual cool and casual confidence wasn’t quite as hardy as it had been a year ago, but he managed to act relatively natural as he gradually relaxed throughout the meal. Neither of your parents brought up his weight gain, nor how he’d asked for seconds. Or thirds.

 

Even after you’d all eaten your fill the four of you stayed around the table and chatted for a bit, but you could tell Dave was getting antsy. His teeth worried at his bottom lip every now and again, and he kept fidgeting with his hands. Clasping them in his lap, unclasping them, tugging at the hem of his hoodie, then clasping them again. His expression was wholly neutral, but you knew his body language like the back of your hand. You decided it was time to get him out of there, before he suffered any longer.

 

“Well, I'd better get to unpacking,” you said as you felt an opening to wrap up the conversation. “And get some sleep. That flight totally zapped me. Dave, you finished? I can show you to the guest room.” He knew where it was, but he nodded anyway. Only you could've picked up on the gratitude in both the gesture, and the subtle features of his expression.

 

“Alright, honey,” your mom said, already getting up to help your dad clear the table and all the empty food boxes. “Sleep well. You too, David.”

 

He returned the sentiment and thanked your mother for the meal, then made a move to stand... only to freeze in place, his hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white as he swiftly returned to his previous position. At first you were confused, raising an eyebrow down at him as you got up. Then you saw it: the way his hips bulged out in the space between the arm and the seat cushion, the way his ass filled up the entirety of the chair. He was stuck.

 

_Again._

 

“Uh, mom!” you said quickly to get her attention, your dad already having gone into the kitchen. “Do you know if… um. If there are… plenty of blankets? In the guest room? For Dave?” She quirked a brow at you skeptically. “He… gets cold easily.”

 

Somehow your mom seemed to doubt that, but she shrugged. “I can check as soon as-”

 

“I’ll take care of the mess!” you insisted. “It’s the least I can do. Thanks, love you!” As you verbally ushered your mother out of the room, you looked pleadingly at Dave. He made an exaggeratedly helpless expression, as if to say "what do you expect me to do here?" You didn’t have but a few minutes to fix this before one of your parents came back. He moved to stand again, but the chair seemed superglued to his plush, round ass, lifting up along with it.

 

Worse yet, when he startle to wriggle and writhe the way he had to free himself from the turnstile, you heard a heart stopping sound: the subtle _tch tch tch_ of slowly popping seams. When you looked down at his thighs again, you saw streaks of pale, squishy skin beginning to tear through the weakened stitches. In a fraction of a second your stomach plummeted, along with all of the blood to your core. This was no time to be turned on, you thought. You couldn’t let your parents see him like this, if not just for his sake. If the incident at the airport had been bad, this was unthinkable.

 

In the blink of an eye you were behind his chair, holding it in place while he attempted to pull himself free. It took nearly all of your weight just to hold it down, and another rush of heat filled the pit of your stomach at the thought of just how _stuck_ he was, how his pants were starting to burst from the pressure of trying to contain him.

 

Finally you felt a jolt as the chair separated from his hips and scraped the ground as he pulled himself free. As quickly as he'd popped loose, he'd absconded from the dining room. You wanted to follow him, but if your mom came back and the dishes were still scattered on the table she’d be pissed. Better not to risk an unnecessary lecture about responsibility, you thought dully. It only took a moment to pick up, but it felt like an eternity.

 

When you returned to your room, you saw him inspecting his reflection in your full-length mirror. His brows pinched together like they had in the airport: that dull, suppressed look of genuine humiliation. His fingers poked gingerly at the strips of pudgy skin oozing out from the rips in his thighs, and when he turned another 90 degrees to inspect his backside, you saw in the mirror that even the seat of his pants had started to rip open.

 

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot,” he huffed, his shoulders hunching in discomfort. “I can't believe I just-... I’m sorry...”

 

“Why are you apologizing?” you asked as you took a few steps closer, crossing your arms and frowning with confused concern.

 

“Because I almost embarrassed you in front of your parents?”

 

“Me? You could never embarrass me, Dave... I was just worried about you!” You moved in to hug him, using your hands to guide him into looking forwards into the mirror again. You peaked around from behind him so you could watch your  hands wander on his hips and see his hard expression begrudgingly begin to melt. “You’re over thinking this.”

 

“I just... fuck. I love all- all this,” he began, gesturing vaguely around the two of you. You assumed “this” meant his gaining and your affection for it, more importantly your relationship. “But the way other people look at me makes me feel… naked, and weird, and… kind of gross.”

 

“Shhh,” you soothed, nuzzling against his back and hugging as much of him as you could fit into your arms. “It’s okay to feel that way. You shouldn't, but I get it. I know this is a big change, and I know it must affect the rest of your life a lot…” You trailed off, an uneasy thought coming to mind. “You don’t… you're not just keeping this up for me, are you? Like… you don’t think that if you lost weight I’d-”

 

“What? No, of course not,” Dave interrupted dismissively, hearing the unsure sinking of your tone. “No. I’m like… stupidly into this, even if I couldn’t explain why if my life depended on it. It makes me feel sexy, at least…" he sighed deeply, trying to compose his thoughts. "At least it does most of the time. It’s just when other people give me _that_ look…” He trailed off, and you felt as if you understood. It was easy to feel confident around the ones you loved and you knew loved you back. But a stranger’s gaze could be cruel.

 

“Well,” you started, trying to sort your words out in your head. You didn't want to be dismissive of his perfectly normal insecurities, but you also wanted to assure him that they were unwarranted. “Other people don’t matter.”

 

“I know, but-”

 

“Let me finish. Other people don’t matter because they don’t know you and don’t care enough to know you. They’re losers. And my parents? They wouldn’t treat you any differently, not really. The important people will always love you and adore you, no matter what. Everyone else can get lost. If you like the way you look and the way you feel, why should a few background characters ruin it for you?” He chuckled humorlessly at the term, still seeming unsure of himself. It pained you. You took a deep breath, taking in his sweet, Old Spice laden scent and letting your hands roam over his soft body. Not in the usual lusting way, but innocently. Admiringly. Lovingly. It toed the line on worship, if you were honest. “If you want to start losing weight, I hope you know that it won’t change anything between us.”

 

“I don’t,” he blurted out, his hands holding yours now. “I just… it’s different. I’m not used to all this yet.” You nodded against his back, breath hitching in surprise as you felt his hands guide yours to cup his muffin top. His grip tightened, forcing you to squeeze the doughy flesh tightly in your fingers. “I just know that I love how you touch me. I love... _all_ _this_. I love _you_.”

 

You smiled, peaking around again to see in the mirror. You watched in awe as he removed his shades so you could see the blissfully shy look on his face as he lifted up his hoodie as he had before dinner. His heavy belly was still fairly soft for the most part, but you could tell it had swelled a bit from the food he’d eaten. He wasn't stuffed, but he was definitely full.

 

“If I’m honest,” he chuckled, somewhere between nervous and naughty, “hearing those seams start to give gave me, like... the guiltiest boner.”

 

You snorted a bit in laughter, your hands trailing down to find where his jeans had started to split apart. “It _was_ pretty hot,” you agreed, moving your hips slightly forwards into his plump backside. “ _You’re_ hot.”

 

“And you’re still a sap.”

 

You ignored this, snaking your finger with no small amount of effort underneath the fabric of his jeans just to get an even better idea of how tight they were. You noticed now, with his hoodie lifted up and his belly exposed, that he had angry red marks in his skin where the chair hair held onto him so tightly, and where the denim was digging into his flesh.

 

“You do realize this is twice in one day that your giant ass has gotten you stuck someplace,” you said in a husky voice, relishing how he twitched and sighed as a result of your implicative words and your wanting touch. “Did you get a guilt-boner the first time too?”

 

“M-maybe a little bit,” he admitted, and you saw him smirk fervidly at your reflection. You were gripping his hips now, and you wanted to make sure he was watching while you made his fat belly jiggle and wobble in your grip. His breathing picked up and a stifled groan choked his throat. “Oh, fuck… that’s… that’s so hot,” he panted, his head lolling back a little as he moved his hands to cup and play with own breasts outside his hoodie. "I've never seen it like-" he swallowed and exhaled deeply, his mouth feeling like sandpaper, "... like this before."

 

It wasn’t long before you two made and unspoken agreement to move back towards the bed. This time he was the first to sit, and when he did those struggling seams gave up the fight entirely and surrendered to his mass. The way they ripped apart, the sound of the fabric crying out and shredding around him made you moan shudderingly as you traced where they’d torn with your fingertips. Seconds later you were in his lap, stripping him of his hoodie, then his t-shirt to fondle and squash his tummy in your palms.

 

As your pinched the sides of his muffin top in your fingers, you realized that the jeans had split all the way up to the waistband. Only a few stitches, most of which were nearest to his knees and his calves, were holding the garment together at all. “God,” you whined into his neck as you felt the sensitive indentations the tight clothes had left in his skin. “I love how all your weight goes straight to your big, beautiful ass~.”

 

He squirmed with delight, biting his lip as even the smallest the movement made even more stitches pop apart. “It feels so good to bust outta these,” he said breathily, and you couldn’t tell if that was dirty talk or just genuine, uncensored relief. “They were so tight they were starting to hurt…”

 

“Mmn, tell me more, baby,” you encouraged, beginning to grind your hips back and forth into his. His stomach squished and molded around yours like silly putty, his hands having lifted his shirt so you could feel his warm skin against yours.

 

“I could feel every inch of myself bulging out,” he continued, his voice warbling with need and arousal. “And they way it pressed into my dick- I didn’t know a pair of jeans could be so tight without suffocating a guy. I’m surprised they lasted as long as they did...”

 

Hearing the near-giddiness in his voice washed away any doubts you had about how into this he was. He definitely wasn’t just doing it for you, but you should’ve known that from the start. He’d never been one to change himself for others, even you. If he’d wanted to lose the weight, he’d have done it by now. But no: this turned him on, and desperately. And you were just fine with that.

 

“They made your ass look great. All squeezed together and spilling out anywhere it could...” As if to emphasize your point, you reached down to try and find his soft shelf of a backside, pinching and lightly smacking the supple skin.

 

“Nng… d-do that again,” he begged, and now you could feel him bucking his hips in time with your motions. Now that his pants had been forced apart by his sheer mass, his cock was no longer quite so painfully contained inside them, and it was aching for your attention. You ground into him harder, struggling to reach around him more and give his ass a second, more purposeful slap, grabbing hold of a good fistful of his chub a second later. “J-jesus  _fuck~_.”

 

The two of you continued like that for a few minutes, just feeling and teasing and playing with each other until he laid down on his back, and you on top of him. His body was like the most blissful mattress imaginable, and the movements of your hips against his started to jerk with desperation. As the friction built, your breathing got heavy and quick along with Dave’s.

 

You were actually a bit surprised when it was enough for you to come, and even more so when Dave followed suit. His skin was slick with sweat, his breathing labored from the erotic exertion and a thin, pretty trail of saliva dripping from his lips. His eyes were so dilated you could swear you saw stars in them. As he caught his breath, chest heaving, he traced your curves slowly. Then his red cheeks bunched as he cracked a goofy smirk, his hand covering his eyes now. At first he tried to fight it, but within seconds he started to laugh gently.

 

“What?” you giggled alongside him, raising your eyebrows and cupping his round face in one hand. “What’s so funny?”

 

“I can’t believe I just came in my pants like a high school sophomore with no date to prom.”

 

In a matter of milliseconds you were both howling with laughter as you held each other and exchanged passionate, jovial kisses. His hand gave your ass a playful squeeze before he'd allowed you to move off of him and cuddle the plush curve of his side. The body pillow you had in your dorm had  _nothing_ on Dave's Strider. "Mmm," you hummed as he kissed your forehead and rubbed up and down your waist, sending tingles through your spine. "Feeling better?"

 

"Feeling fantastic."

 

"Good," you replied softly, propping up on your elbows. "Because we've got a whole week ahead of us." Your mouths melded warmly, wetly; it was sloppy and ungraceful, but you'd be damned if you'd ever had a more passionate kiss in your life. You crooned pleasantly against his mouth as he nipped at your lips gently, like all he wanted in life was to taste and savor them. You'd never really thought you were capable of multiple rounds, but as he deliberately rolled you onto your back and squashed his bare stomach against your hips, you were beginning to feel like you could manage it.


End file.
